


Time the Preserver

by MaxRobespierre



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Gen, Mutant Road Trip, Time Travel, sometimes you gotta go back in time just to have an argument with yourself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:28:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22263385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxRobespierre/pseuds/MaxRobespierre
Summary: “Erik,” says the old man, looking directly at him, and, ah. Yes. That was why Erik stopped on his way back to the motel. His name, and the look in the old man’s eyes. He’s seen that look before, that depth of mourning. It’s not a look he likes to think about.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr & Charles Xavier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	Time the Preserver

**Author's Note:**

> Something I found in the back of a notebook from 2014.
> 
> Inspired by [this photoset.](https://maximilienderobespierre.tumblr.com/post/188825293605/yoursidekick-i-love-the-thought-that-charles) I still love the thought of a favorite book, passed between arch enemies.
> 
> Title is from T.S. Eliot

_“You could not give up a human heart as you could give up drinking.”_  
-T.H. White, _The Once And Future King_

“I hate you, you know,” says the stranger. He is an old man, white haired under the bizarre contraption on his head. He is sitting on the curb, looking at the sky, not looking at Erik.

“I’m crushed,” says Erik. Maybe he’ll have a soda with dinner. The sugar is always a tiny thrill, something forbidden, harmless. He doesn’t usually indulge, but it’s a good day.

“Only sometimes,” says the old man, like he’s talking to himself and Erik’s just incidental. “Most of the time I don’t hate you. You try to do the right thing; you could do worse. Sometimes I don’t hate you at all.”

“Congratulations,” says Erik. Then, “are you drunk?”

“Erik,” says the old man, looking directly at him, and, ah. Yes. That was why Erik stopped on his way back to the motel. His name, and the look in the old man’s eyes. He’s seen that look before, that depth of mourning. It’s not a look he likes to think about.

“You are so convinced,” says the old man, “that yours is the only way. That nothing in the world matters but stopping _them._ Would you listen if I told you you’re wrong? Some people don’t want to be saved, if it’s you doing the saving.”

“I’ve always been prepared for hate,” says Erik. Why is he even speaking to this stranger? He should walk away. It’s something about the eyes.

“Perhaps,” says the stranger. “But being surrounded by hate is not a necessary condition of being alive, you know.”

“You sound like – my friend,” says Erik, and maybe that’s what it is, not the eyes.

“There are worse things,” says the stranger. There’s a smile lurking under the surface of his face.

“Erik!” Charles has finally come out of the motel. “There you are, I thought I – heard your voice, and now I see you have a. Someone. A very interesting someone. Might I beg an introduction?” He comes to a halt a few feet away, head cocked to one side. He has pulled out the charm act, put on a dazzling smile, but his eyes are sharp.

“It’s the helmet,” says the stranger, grinning now, in a way that borders on manic.

“Fascinating.”

“As you say, Mr. Spock.” He laughs at Charles’ confusion. All his reserve and sadness seems to have vanished, the moment Charles appeared. Erik is uneasy.

“Shall we find food, Charles?” he breaks in.

“Yes, yes,” says the old man. “Don’t let me keep you. I am very, very glad to have met you, Charles.”

“I assure you, my strange friend, the pleasure is all mine.” The sharp curiosity is overtaking the charm and the confusion on his face.

“And, Erik,” says the man. “Oh, never mind. You will make your mistakes. Only, look around before you do. There are good things in this world. Things that deserve to be protected.”

“I’ve never intended to do anything else.”

“No,” he sighs. “I suppose not.”

“What is that?” Charles’ voice has lost any vestige of the charm act. The stranger looks down at the book in his hands and smiles. It is blue and white. Battered.

“This? Ah, it belonged to... let’s just say, an old friend.”

Charles is vibrating with some suppressed emotion. Erik sends him a tentative query and is met with resounding silence. The old man speaks again, soft, still smiling.

“Have a care, Charles. You love so very easily.”

“I really don’t. Where did you get that?”

The old man smiles and touches his helmet once, as though doffing a hat. He disappears into the night, and Charles only shakes his head when Erik asks.

Erik wonders, when he sees a blue and white striped book in the library at Westchester but, well, by then there are more important things to consider. Questions can wait until after they find Shaw.


End file.
